


hush hush

by rottedflowerpits



Series: Drabbles/Tumblr requests [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Dry Humping, Edgeplay, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Silence Kink, the gist is they're fucking in a tent full of people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottedflowerpits/pseuds/rottedflowerpits
Summary: You really shouldn't think about humping your sleeping partner.You really shouldn't.But.





	hush hush

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> This was a prompt I took with eager fists and ran with. Hoo boy.

Keith hated camping. 

Ironic, right? 

Some kid able to survive in and withstand the desert heat, in a shack that toed the line of hospitable. He'd grown used to shitting in holes he'd dug with his hands. He found a sick thrill in pissing off the cliff edges. He slept in caves, on the hard, dusty terrain. He watched the sunset and the sunrise from the splintered wood of his roof, and he remembered, disgustingly enough, taking pride in not having showered for a month. 

Keith was used to this kind of thing. 

But throw in an oversized tent, stuffed full of least eight other people? Keith could feel the ends of his nerves severing, splaying out and overstimulated. Each raucous chorus of Hunk's snoring tore through every attempt at focusing on sleep. Lance couldn't keep to himself, flailing like a corpse post-railed cocaine. Pidge, Allura, Krolia and Romelle all kept their respectable distance, and Shiro was a barrier from the others Keith was glad to have. 

How he was sleeping, Keith didn't fucking know. 

Keith was at the edge of consciousness and having had it. Just when he thought he could finally drift off into peaceful slumber, there'd be some obnoxious noise or movement from one of the others that would send him full tilt back into frustrated, alert wakefulness. 

Keith bit the corner of his pillow, and forced himself to count to fifty. 

That'd be when he felt he was sure he could fall asleep, all over again...until Kosmo stepped over and on him, stomping his way out to the outside world and using Keith as his personal doormat. Keith swore, a bit louder than he meant to, but was met with no reply. Nothing at all, aside from Hunk's cacophony of unholy, thunderous ceremonials. 

Keith, quite frankly, wanted to kill himself. 

Discontentment that sent his vision crimson bubbled deep in his chest. The urge to claw into his own skin and rake it from his bones in a visceral slough was an intrusive thought he couldn't shake. The images lingered like a comforting scene from an old, favorite movie, and it was at that point the rational part of his brain begged for a distraction. _Anything_ to keep Keith from rising into murderous, roiling rage. 

He forced a deep breath, stuffing the musty air of the surrounding forest into his lungs. It tasted dry, and weeks of neglected BO invaded the privacy of Keith's nostrils and sent him reeling. At that point, all bets were off, and Keith was hiked onto an elbow with the intent to get the freshest air possible and resume this useless endeavor in Black's cockpit. 

But before he could leave, Shiro shifted. An innocent, sleep-induced gesture that brought him closer, pressed against Keith more than he had been before. His lashes fluttered and his hair resembled an ethereal moonbeam as it shone in the dimness of the tent. His subconscious had even gone so far as to wrap an arm around Keith's waist, and just when Keith's mind teetered on puppy dog _aww_ s, he felt it. 

Something much less innocent. Something overtly titillating. 

Keith heaved a sigh. Whether it was from continued, agonizing exhaustion, indignation, or pleasant surprise, he didn't quite know yet. But the longer he sat there, contemplating Shiro's peaceful expression and the boner between his thighs, Keith's thoughts circled the drain before one idea was left behind: 

Masturbating. 

He inwardly groaned, raking his fingers through his bangs, already ashamed at himself. He kicked the thought desperately to the side, but to no avail. He had to accept the fact his mortal soul had succumbed to the temptations, the simple pleasure of rubbing one out in vigorous fashion when the irritation had no other outlet. He'd done it so many times before, and often enough that he knew he could knock himself out within minutes of finishing the act. 

But the fact remained that everyone else was _asleep,_ and trying to exit the confined space would stir someone, if not everyone, from their coma. They already hated it enough when Keith woke them for daily exercises; the last thing he wanted was to hear about Lance's ruined beauty sleep for the next God-only-knew-how-long. 

Keith sighed again, sliding a hand down a flushed cheek, weighing his options. Shiro's groin smoldered against his hip, pressed flush to the bone. Every little shift of weight, every subtle movement, and Keith could hear a soft noise of contentment slip past Shiro's lips and to his own abdomen. It was a sweet heat that built in Keith's groin, and shamefully, terrible and awfully _shamefully,_ he felt himself grow aroused on Shiro's uncontrolled, sleeping form. 

Even tucked into himself, dreaming of (hopefully) better things, things far away from where they were, Keith felt the urge rise in his chest to bend over and lick Shiro's sculpted collarbones down to his happy trail. He couldn't see any of it, considering the skin-tight suit of armor they wore underneath their paladin adornments, but still. Keith could see it crystal clear in his mind's eye, a delicate trail of pubic hair he'd press his nose and mouth against, before slipping down to Shiro's dick. 

He felt like an unashamed whore scolded in front of Jesus himself and experiencing divine retribution for the first time in his life. Keith really had no shame for thinking these things, but it trickled down the back of his mind as his thoughts wandered to actually getting off to it all, right there next to Shiro, a Shiro who was _asleep,_ a Shiro who had no say in the matter. 

...But he really didn't think Shiro would mind. 

The man had started sleeping like the dead since the “incident.” Every ounce of productive rest that came his way, Shiro took in clenched fists and held near and dear to his exhausted soul. It was to the point no one had the heart to try and wake him, and even Keith had given up. It was too much of a sin to disturb the man after what he'd been through, and with it already being as difficult as it was, they all just let the sleeping Shiro-dog lie. 

So getting his rocks off against Shiro's thigh while he dozed wasn't the worst crime in the world, right?

Keith licked his lips, his eyes locked onto Shiro's expression. Full, bleached lashes fluttered against his cheekbones. His eyelids twitched, revealing an invisible movie on the delicate skin. Keith wondered what he saw, what was happening, to give him such a reprieve that ended in a way like this. Usually Shiro's dreams consisted of nothing or everything, from the comforting, rare void to night terrors and the resurgence of old, scarred memories. Keith almost hated to potentially ruin something so good, but Shiro just kept pressing closer, and with a stifled moan Keith met him halfway. 

It was awkward, getting into position. He'd shucked the majority of his armor for the sake of comfortable sleep. It made it easier to maneuver, but every tossing of a body flipping from one side to the other, every cracked joint, every stretch and delicate snuffle interwoven with Hunk's nostril atrocities had Keith frozen with anxiety. His heart jump-started to literally everything, and the time between moving from his original spot next to Shiro, to moving with a thigh wrapped around his, perched precariously on an already shuddering wrist, took what felt like an eternity. 

But there was no turning back now. Keith had worked hard for this awkward, convoluted position, and he'd already steeled himself with the idea of going through with his plan. If actually getting off didn't knock him out for the night, then he knew the consistent stress stringing him out through the rush of adrenaline would. 

Keith kept himself poised above Shiro, still and alert, until his muscles strained and screamed for relief. When Keith was finally comfortable with the idea that no one would be waking up any time soon, he sucked a sharp breath between his teeth and looked down at Shiro again. 

He was so beautiful. 

Keith fought the urge to take him by the jaw and kiss him deeply. He fought the urge to slip between his thighs and use his mouth there instead. There was always something about fucking his tongue and mouth on girth and veins that managed to get him off in immediate tandem. But Shiro was _asleep,_ and Keith was being selfish. 

Keith bit his lip hard, resting his weight onto the heel of his palms. He pressed them carefully on either side of Shiro's head, one poised comfortably enough to fall onto its elbow. Keith lowered himself slowly, using the awkward leverage to wrap a thigh around Shiro's and press their hips together. 

He nearly pulled away as soon as he felt the contact hit home. His heart pummeled like a piston in his chest, threatening to crack his breastbone in three. Shiro didn't move at all, just deep in his sleep, and Keith was awash with the guilt of his innocent slumber once more. 

Again, again again again...he knew Shiro wouldn't care. They'd done worse. This was just a trick in Keith's old book of tips for his own life on how to work himself with cheat codes. And at this point of bygones and anger at full flare in his chest, he didn't care anymore. He couldn't care; he was past the point of no return now.

Keith pressed down, moving a hand to Shiro's hip. He slid the palm down the rounded edge of Shiro's thigh, compressing it gently underneath his fingers to help create a vacuum between them. Keith pressed firm to Shiro's crotch, and the friction of cloth rubbing between them had him choking on a hard gasp. 

He felt like a teenager again, humping his pillows for desperate relief. But even those pillows could render him a drooling mess, glossy-eyed and head thrown back in ecstasy. Having Shiro there just made it better, and Keith rutted against him as gently and as firmly as he could manage. It was a challenging equilibrium to maintain, but once Keith found a good rhythm to fall into, it turned easy. It became fluid. It was hard, not leaning into Shiro's body and hiding in the crook of his neck. Keith scraped his cheek so lightly, so gently, with the sides of his canines. Shiro puffed a gentle snort from his nose, his eyebrows twitched, but that was all the signs of life Keith seemed to be getting at the moment. 

He stifled a groan into Shiro's shoulder, biting the fabric. He rolled harder against Shiro's hip, as hard as he dared to. Even if Shiro could suddenly sleep through a nuclear blast, Keith still didn't want to tempt fate. He ground in as best as he could while still offering his restrained cock the friction it needed. And while it would have been good enough any other day, _should_ have been good enough, it just wasn't. 

There was an innate desire to pin Shiro and take what he needed. After the last few hours of slowly feeling his sanity drip through the sieve of the multitude of woven thoughts spinning nonstop through his head, he felt like he damn well deserved it. 

With a softer grunt, Keith bore down with an insistence behind his pelvis. He pressed it firm to Shiro's groin and rubbed into him, against him, aligning the bulge of their cocks and relishing in the natural heat of their bodies and that of the friction made between the cloth. Keith cocked his head back, biting a deep groan in half. 

He felt his jaw go slack, and he squeezed his twitching eyelids shut. Every thrust bore down harder against Shiro's leg, and they grew more desperate, like those of a dog in heat. That's what he fucking felt like, too, with every inhibition of his being thrown to the wind. Past thoughts of being gentle, and the careful motions he'd been using were all tossed out the window as he started to move faster, grind harder, his orgasm blinking like stars at the edge of his vision as he came closer to it. 

He panted heavily, chasing the honeyed traces of relief. He could feel it building at the base of his spine, a pressure that made his hamstrings tense and his ass clench. Just a few more erratic motions, another errant thought of Shiro forcing Keith's mouth on his cock, and he'd be there. He was so close, with an arched back stiff as boards and clenched fists, and just when he thought he was ready to come-- 

Shiro grabbed Keith by the jaw. Using his surprise to his advantage, he turned Keith over onto his back. Keith's noise of embarrassed surprise was smothered against the palm of Shiro's sweating hand, and the fear of God Himself settled bone-deep as Keith froze in sheer terror. 

He'd fucked up. 

Shiro's weight crushed them against Keith's sleeping bag, the enormity of his frame swallowing Keith's and settling on his chest. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, and Shiro's hand clamped harder around his mouth to the point it hurt. Keith felt his jaw roll unwillingly, and just when it became unbearable, Shiro stilled. 

Caught between the ground and Shiro's heaviness, the silence ticking past in elongated seconds, Keith had started to wonder if Shiro had just come to for a moment before falling asleep again. 

But Keith heard it too, after a moment longer. The sound of someone sitting upright, mumbling quietly to themselves. It sounded like Pidge, and her quiet footsteps soon filled the space of the tent as they shuffled to the door. Keith heard the zipper as it unwound and closed again, and then, silence. 

Shiro didn't move, and the pain settling into Keith's joints and wounded pride was quickly becoming excruciating. Just when Keith was about to take Shiro by the shoulders and gently push him over, the faint glimmer of the light caught in Shiro's eyes finally broke the darkness. 

He had his finger pressed to his lips, eyes narrowed to a sharp glare. _“Shh.”_

The force behind the unspoken command was enough to cow Keith. He pressed back into his pillow, wide-eyed behind Shiro's hand as it grabbed him by the corners of the jaw again. Keith swallowed hard, knitting his eyebrows into apologetic submission. 

_I'm sorry,_ he tried to mouth against Shiro's palm. He was desperate to get something, or desperate to at least decipher if Shiro was actually awake or not. It wouldn't be the first time Keith had woken up to a hand around his throat. 

Guilt whirlpooled in the pit of Keith's stomach. “I'm sorry,” he breathed, “I-” 

He was cut off by Shiro's fingers moving to his chin, dragging him into a heated kiss. Keith could hear another faint _shh,_ pushed deep into his mouth just as his own words had been stuffed into Shiro's. Keith wasn't focused on them anymore, nor his own frantic apologies. He splayed out underneath Shiro, his own hands lazy and wrapping around the back of Shiro's neck. He held Shiro tight there, head tilted and lips parted. Shiro's tongue played at his, and while he tasted of someone who didn't brush their teeth in at least three days, the musk of a missing shower cloying as it filled the front of his head, it was all enough to take his breath away. 

Keith was left gasping when Shiro pulled back. A heavy, pregnant pause settled between the two. Shiro's thighs wrapped around Keith's waist as he moved to sit there, steeled eyes gazing imploringly into Keith's. No longer quite the gunmetal grey they used to be, Shiro's eyes housed a warm honey in their depths that only came out at night. Like two moons blinking down at him, Keith was reminded again just how _unreal_ Shiro looked. Like some kind of space deity on course to elder god, at the edge of Keith's universe and what awaited him when he died. 

A haze of white, with flashes of teasing gold. A void where it was no one else but them, spanning across the empty universe together to create their own. 

Keith's chest seized as he realized he'd pulled a one-eighty with his thought process. Shiro was interrupting them rather suddenly with two fingers dipping past Keith's lower lip, his expression caught in the light of their current planet's orbiting celestial bodies. He was practically glowing silver, his soft expression lascivious in its nature. Shiro fluttered his lashes, and subtly mouthed, _someone's in a mood._

The immediate red-hot anger from earlier, with dealing with the ecosystem of their tent, was wrought forward between them in the form of Keith's wild eyes. He shot Shiro a glare, throwing his hand in the direction of the others before pointing to his face, his eyes. He wasn't sure if he was just feeling things and exaggerating them, but he could tell the corners of his eyes sagged in bruised sallow to the tops of his cheeks. He was utterly exhausted, he made clear with a direct jab to himself; and he just wanted to sleep, he finished by falling back against his pillow. 

He was defeated. 

Shiro's gaze grew sympathetic, and caught in the halo of corporeal moonlight behind his head, he nodded his understanding. He pressed his finger to his lips again with a coy smirk. Taking that as consent to keep going, Keith nodded. He got it: no noise. That'd be fine. That'd be easy. 

Seemingly satisfied, Shiro reached down to press his finger to Keith's lower lip again. His erection had died during that little momentary scuffle of surprise, and it was evident. But Shiro knew how to pluck at Keith's cords, and he slid his finger into Keith's mouth and down the plane of his flattening tongue. 

Keith rose to suck it down. He looked and felt desperate, eager to feel Shiro's blunt nails knocking at the back of his throat. Discovering at a young age he lacked a gag reflex was such a fucking blessing. It was so easy to swallow Shiro and bob his head around the meager tribute. They couldn't do much more than this, and Keith was just grateful Shiro offered another finger. 

Keith sucked on and gasped around the digits, the foreplay alluding to what usually came after filling his groin with the same heat from before. Shiro hiked a knee between Keith's thighs to nurse it, but it wasn't long before he was pulling back entirely. 

A gossamer strand of saliva bowed from Keith's lower lip, connecting itself to the tips of Shiro's fingers. He quirked an eyebrow down at Keith, a playful glint to his eye. Keith's chest heaved, and his legs bent at the knees. There was an implied invitation there. Keith glanced down at the outline of his cock, trapped underneath the armor and against himself. 

Shiro palmed the bulge, eyes soft as he leaned closer. Keith's first mistake of the night would start here: rolling into Shiro's hand, mouthing his groans. He lost himself in the heat of his lover's hand, the way Shiro's fingers caressed his dick. Even if he wasn't making any effort to unzip the armor and expose Keith, the mere audacity of the situation and even daring to put themselves in it was enough to get Keith close to the edge again. 

He was just grateful they were spaced a good amount away from the others. It was easy for Keith to writhe, fighting for purchase against the blanket and the slick surface of the tent's material. Combined with the inner humidity of the enclosed space, it was especially hard to gain the kind of friction Keith wanted. 

Panting hard, he managed, at least. Shiro met him halfway every time, pressing the heel of his palm hard against the base of Keith's cock. Keith bit his own knuckle, every desperate noise that threatened to leak at least stopped by something. 

It wasn't as good as Shiro choking him, or actually fucking him, but really, it was the next best thing. Keith was easily lost in the sensation, Shiro groping him and kissing him at the neck. Shiro tugged the collar of Keith's armor down to the shoulder. The newly-exposed plane of his neck was where Shiro focused on the most, his hand growing idle in its stroking as he bit at Keith's tender flesh. His pulse roared underneath the attention, and Keith keened up against Shiro, insistent for more more _more._

Shiro seemed willing. Keith could see the smile on his lips, the delicate glow in his eyes. He grabbed what he could through the armor and jerked Keith to the tip, watching the man arch against the ground. For the second time that night Keith's vision grew hazy, his face hot and his insides broiling. He curled his fingers into the meager blanket he'd been using earlier, had contemplated suicide with by noose, and used it as the base for their mutual reverence instead. Keith's entire lower half juddered with the exertion of chasing the electrical snap, and it was with those few last desperate motions he finally felt the heat drop and saw the world go black. 

_”Shiro,”_ he wanted to say, _did_ say, but the man's hand was clamped tight over his lips before the word could spill from his unhinged jaw. Shiro pressed against Keith again, wrapping around him, eyes closed and feigning unconsciousness. 

Keith wanted to heave him off, overtaxed and sensitive. His head throbbed and the heat emanating from Shiro's body was too much, but there was a rhyme to his reason. Keith heard the sound of the tent's zipper again, slowly going around the door. Pidge was sneaking back into the tent, stepping carefully and quietly between the others. She passed Keith and Shiro, and in one heart-stopping moment, paused. 

Through his eyelashes, Keith could see her fumbling for something. She was patting her pockets in a panic, like she'd forgotten something. A few seconds of frantic searching later, and she seemed to have found it. 

Keith wrapped an arm lazily around Shiro's shoulders, using his hand to obscure his open eyes. He watched Pidge settle back into her nest of pillows and quilts (which was totally unfair. But that's what Keith got for being frugal with his space money, he supposed) and waited. 

Shiro was on the same wavelength. He leaned back ever so slightly to glance curiously down at Keith. Keith pointed to Pidge and nodded, before bringing his palms together and tucking them underneath his head. They were going to wait on her to fall back asleep, right?

Shiro's laugh was just a puff of air, but it was enough of an answer that let Keith know his point got across. Shiro settled back down on Keith's chest, his hand gliding over his still-stuttering abdomen. Shiro let it glide down over his hip, up his waist, to his pectoral. Shiro's wandering fingers pinched at the erect nub of Keith's nipple, and he physically fought the urge to openly hiss. Keith didn't think their fun would be over, didn't _want_ it to be over, but teasing in the interlude was a crime. 

Keith wriggled uncomfortably underneath Shiro. Shiro leaned back, mouthed his _I know._ He ran his hand up and down Keith's waist, kissing the man gently at the corner of his mouth. Keith leaned into it, scorned and grateful for the distraction. He could feel Shiro smile against his lips, so slow and tender as he played at Keith's lower lip. He encouraged Keith to open up, and dipped inside when he did. For as awful as it all tasted, for as revolted as Keith felt brushing against fuzzy teeth and knowing Shiro was doing the same, it hit him in the heartstrings just how beautiful the moment was. 

Again. 

Theatrical poetry really wasn't Keith's thing. Everything he did, he did either out of necessity or for the few who were there and really didn't need to be. Of course Shiro took up the majority of the latter option, and it was hard to think anything else. Everything he'd done was for these moments, as guilty as the situations that brought them there made him feel. There'd been a lifetime, so long ago, where none of this would have ever happened. Keith was okay with that. 

But sitting there, with his fingers tangled in Shiro's hair, his tongue shoved unceremoniously into Keith's mouth, it— 

The train of thought, it was interrupted by another thunderous crack of Hunk's roaring. A nerve snapped and Keith's fingers tightened, earning him a soft yelp from Shiro's end. Keith immediately let him go, mouthing _sorry sorry oh god I'm so sorry are you okay,_ his hands tilting Shiro's face to his. 

But Shiro was laughing again, patting Keith's shoulder. He held his finger up, quiet, his gaze growing distant. He was listening for something. Keith heaved a sigh and did the same thing, too. Nothing but the even breathing (caveat: Hunk) of the others filled the tent, and relief washed over them both in their sighs of unison. 

Shiro entered Keith's field of vision with a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. There was a much more dangerous cut to his eyes, and Keith felt a spark of excitement ignite like a pilot flame in his gut again. 

_Got anything else in mind?_

Shiro innocently shrugged, but the action was immediately followed with the gentle urging of getting Keith onto his side. Keith obliged, rolling into the motion until he was as comfortable as he could get on the ground. His hip seemed to have found a rock to press into, but it was a distant irritation as Shiro occupied his front and foremost thoughts with the idea of unzipping Keith's armor. 

He slid the fabric away slowly. It still clung to Keith's arms at the wrists, but the rest was loosened enough and pushed far enough away that his torso and thighs were exposed. Keith shuddered at the intrusion of cold air on his prickled skin, but it was comfortable, compared to being overheated in a powered-down suit. 

Keith pressed back against Shiro, tugging the blanket over them anyway. 

Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith's waist, hand splayed over his stomach. It knotted underneath Shiro's palm, and Keith was acutely aware all over again just how fucking big Shiro's hands were. Just one could easily snap Keith's spine, and he shuddered as it slid down to his abdomen. 

The mess from earlier lingered. Keith was only slightly embarrassed, and he moved to mop it up with the corner of the blanket. Shiro's hand was quick to knock his away, though, and with an arched brow Keith watched with some interest as to what Shiro's intentions were going to be. 

Shiro cleared the milky threads away, gathering the viscous liquid up onto his fingers. Keith, only slightly grossed out at the fact he had the gall to do that via lack of the heat of the moment, kept watching. Shiro was careful and meticulous as he got what he could on his fingers. Keith was left feeling sticky and only slightly better, but that was a fleeting moment as Shiro's hand disappeared behind his back. 

Keith was about to chastise the man for being gross as hell, before he felt the could touch of his own seed and Shiro's flesh poke at the back of a thigh. He jumped, earning himself a husky chuckle from Shiro's throat. Flushed, Keith pointed a glare over his shoulder. Shiro returned the expression with a pleasant smile, prying insistently at the space between Keith's thighs. He spread them, letting Shiro do what he wanted with only _some_ suspicion. 

It felt pretty damn awkward, feeling Shiro lube his skin up like he was. Keith squirmed at the feeling, debating getting to his feet and just scouring for proper lube in Black. Hell, if he did that, they could both just have at it in Black, wear themselves out, and have a proper night's rest in the cockpit. 

...But the Lions were a distance away from their campsite, and Keith wasn't in the mood to trek through the planet's humid, fungal rain forest just for that. Shiro's hand was soon distracting him again anyway, with the way it slid up to fondle his balls. Each finger was slow and tantalizing as they caressed and traced the seam of Keith's glands. It left him shuddering, lips parted in a silent whine. Shiro's mouth kissed and sucked at the back of his shoulder, soft and warm and violent in the way his teeth worked at Keith's skin. 

Keith gave into it all, panting quietly. He let his hair fall over his eyes, obscuring the pink at the top of his cheeks. It wasn't like anyone would really see him anyway, with how dark the tent was, but it was a habitual thing. Shiro getting underneath his skin and rendering him into vulnerable, overworked nerves was a feeling he didn't think he'd ever quite get used to. Retreating into his shell was just easy to do.

It was a feeling he welcomed, though, as Shiro's hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He fisted the length and jerked his hand slowly, working Keith from shaft to tip. His palm was still slightly slick, and each swipe of callused fingers tugging at his foreskin had Keith pumping indulgently into the motions. It was so easy to ride what was being offered, that Keith tipped himself over into the second mistake of that night: assuming Shiro would let him get off again so easily. 

Just when Keith was _really_ getting into it, humping Shiro's hand and fucking it without a care, Shiro pulled back with the slightest hint of a hum to his voice. Keith choked on a moan of indignation, turning to ask _what the hell?_ He wasn't in the mood to be teased, and he knew Shiro couldn't be, either. Even in the low light, Keith could clearly see the hunger in his eyes, feel the hard line of his cock against the back of his thigh. Keith rubbed against it, more so out of spite, but the subtle motions at least earned him a grimace. 

Shiro grabbed Keith's knee, squeezing it gently but firmly. There was a message of _patience_ behind the gesture, and Keith forced himself to go lax. He closed his eyes and took the moment to breathe, hearing Shiro's words in his head without them even having to be said. A string of phrases all pertaining to that damn word. Patience patience patience. Keith would choke and die on the word to make a point, if he could. 

Shiro's point was soon made clear after the moment was given to Keith to breathe. Just when Keith was a little off his guard, he felt Shiro shifting behind him. He could feel the slide of fabric against his back, and when Keith glanced over his shoulder to see what Shiro was doing, the man had him by the underside of his thigh. Lifting it, Shiro slid his dick between Keith's legs where he'd earlier spread his cum.

Keith shuddered at the intrusion. It was a strange sensation, almost ticklish. Keith would have laughed if not for the heavy sigh that ghosted across his ear, the faintest _fuck_ to follow it. It was hot, and he grinned as he glanced over his shoulder at Shiro. 

Shiro's expression hung suspended in heavy ecstasy. His thick brows furrowed into the middle of a frown, concentration etched into every line of his face. He moved slowly and deliberately, his arm wrapped tight around Keith's chest. Keith moved with him, lazily grinding against the air. They _had_ to move slowly, with purpose. Too fast and they'd create a cacophony of slapping skin and the slick slide of their movements. Keith wanted to give in and make a little noise, but he bit his lip instead, turning at the waist with two hands fisted tight in the blankets. 

Shiro started out at a slow pace that only lasted for a few seconds. Keith clenched his thighs around Shiro's girth as best he could, hugging it with the downy softness of his skin. He rolled against Shiro and gasped softly when his dick brushed against Keith's balls, tilting the world on its axis with their fleeting contact. It was enough to chase Keith into faster thrusts himself, barely able to hold back the groan that formed a lump in his throat. 

Just when Shiro slammed forward and Keith thought it'd be the end of their ruse, the noise was muffled by Shiro slowing at the last second. He reached for Keith's neck in tandem and _squeezed_ the air from Keith's lungs, cutting any noise off at the root. Keith choked on a quiet sob, pushing back against Shiro. Shiro's grip lacked mercy, using the leverage against Keith's sternum to pull him close. It was a tight grip that refused to let go, and Keith let himself asphyxiate on the pleasure of being faux-fucked into the ground. 

Shiro's thrusts grew harder, pointed. He kept up a raw pace until Keith was able to match him, before he soon slowed to a stop. Keith kept moving, gasping hard through Shiro's fingers. They'd slid from his neck to his mouth again, pushing back against his tongue. Keith kept his throat pliant for them, drool falling freely from his mouth. He was dissolving into a grade-A whore, an utter mess against the tent's floor, and he could feel himself fucking Shiro harder, faster. 

The heat in Keith's groin was nearly unbearable, and he whined softly, pitifully, for _something._

Shiro moved to take Keith by the bangs, pulling hard enough Keith felt the strands pull free from his scalp. It brought tears to his eyes, and he clenched his jaw, arching stiffly against Shiro as he felt the coil tighten in his groin again. He reached back, clawing at Shiro's thigh, finding purchase through nails digging into the soft flesh of Shiro's ass. He attempted to hold them tight together as his body tensed, unable to do more than the frantic heaves before the fall. 

Shiro fucked into him quicker, roughly, the subtle rustling noise of fabric against fabric luckily being the only thing to give them away. 

With one last hard snap, Keith slammed a palm against the ground and came. 

He buried the pitiful noises deep into the crook of his elbow, Shiro rolling over on top of him to help muffle the noises. Keith could feel Shiro come against his thigh, a warm trickle that mingled with his own. He reached down in a meager attempt to catch the mess between the both of them, but the most he could manage was slicking the head of Shiro's cock over with the cum he'd shot out between Keith's legs. 

Keith could feel him stutter, overtaxed. He let his hand fall to the ground, the rest of his body following suit. Shiro's weight was dead against him, chest pressed to Keith's back, lips pressed to his temple. It was a task on both of their parts to keep their breathing even and normal, quiet in the din of the tent. 

How long it took them to come back down from their mutual high, Keith didn't know. He only moved when Shiro did, heavy eyes glancing to Shiro to make sure he was all right. He looked a little spent, rubbing at the back of a leg and knee, but other than what obviously looked like a pulled muscle, he seemed fine. 

Keith smiled, a gesture Shiro easily returned. He wrapped his arm gently around Keith, urging him to face Shiro's chest. Keith gladly did, burying his face against bare skin and breathing in its scent. The musk of their sex was discernible, and he could only hope it'd stick to mostly them before they got the chance to bathe. 

Either way, Keith was mouthing a _thank you_ against Shiro's skin. Shiro answered him with soft, gentle strokes to the back of his head. He kept up the pace until they just barely started to drift off, Keith's tired and satisfied mind finally tipping into the blackness of much-needed rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed, leave a comment or a kudos. ♥ If you're ever interested, you can find me [here.](https://rottedflowerpits.tumblr.com/)


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